Sub Zero

We all have moments of indecision in our lives. Some people more than others.
On DD-Sports today, there was this retarded SMS poll.
Will Dhoni hit a century today? SMS answers to...Koon koo koon koo
Also flashing on the screen were the results until now..
Yes 92% ( Fair enough, the man is on 98 )
No 3% ( Hmmm, well this is a madman we are talking about)
Can't say 5%

What??? Why in Sourav Ganguly's 'God of the off side' name would you do that? Not only are they indecisive, they actually SMS to declare their indecision. I understand there are possible prizes to win in case you get your prediction right. Mr. Ajit Solanki from Jodhpur, a possible winner says " I predicted Yes, so now I have a one in a million chance to win some DD turds " His son Sanjay was heard saying " @#@#$$$@ , phir galt ho gaya "

So, these guys "couldn't say" (but sure did) aren't even giving themselves a winning chance. This enthusiasm for SMSing has gone too far. And there was a choice this time.In surveys where a 'Seema' sounding woman calls you up and asks about the pancreatic juices of the Himalayan goat, you are entitled to say ' can't say ' , disconnect the phone line and get the hell out of there.

Another thought, could DD have fudged the results to encourage viewer participation? Why would they do this to me?

The node of all Orbits

The last post was an accidental one, meant to go into a private blog I keep of my embarrasing running times.
Since the comments got deleted with the post...
Mayank : Yea, all kinds of kids, men , animals are possible obstructions at the Japanese park....They just dont get the concept of running just for the sake of it, they assume something must be wrong.

Finally, this is the link
The UnderTones

It's been up for a while now....

Dhananjay

Discarded frame

Keywords - Youth's pretense.American movies.CAT 2005.

I dont like I.I like she.

She, who?
She, the daughter of Muhammad.
Muhammad, who?
I know him.I don't like I.

She was seven when they moved.
Then, she was eight when they moved.
Then, she was thirteen when they moved.
She was eighteen when she moved.
Muhammad was sixty two.Soon, he will be dead.

I did not say goodbye.
I, who? I am the narrator.

Muhammad is Somalian.I am Indian.She is half Somalian and half Austrian.
Muhammad is Muslim.I am Hindu.She is dead.

She was seven when they moved to place X.Place X, of course , was beautiful.Place X was her favourote place ever.Place X was also the scene of the war.Yes, there was war.She first learn to speak in English here.Muhammad also learnt English in Place X.Her mother did not learn English.Ever.

Then, she was eight when they moved to place Y.She went to a new school.She met me there.I was at that new school.Later that day, she found that I was her neighbor too.She fell in love with me.In a kiddish sort of way.

When she went back home, she found that Muhammad lay unconcious on the floor.He soon woke up cursing in a language she vaguely knew.Let's call this language 'A'.She was thirteen.It was then when she knew for sure that Muhammad was dying.Muhammad tried to sound cheerful and took her to dinner which he paid for over the next two weeks.I was mentioned in that dinner.I know it cheered her up.

She was eighteen when she moved.They had fought over who would clean the truck. It was young blood.It was also old blood.She never saw him again.Not directly anyway.

Muhammad's last job was as a security guard at the University.
The night shift.Of course.
I often saw him there.It was quite a release.He spoke with a strange accent.He spoke in English.He spoke of places, and he spoke of her.He spoke of Vienna, and he spoke of the wife, who still lived in Place X.

She died yesterday.

I was her imaginary friend from Place X.I should have gone with her.When she died, I should have too.Why am I still around?

Muhammad will die tomorrow.I am guessing I will go with him.Hoping.

Wake up

To all those people who wanted me to wake them up when september ended...
a little late but, wake up...

Observations and ...

I think the Kabuliwallah is an excellent short story.Re-read it while giving tuitions to the kid.I once wrote a story, which on afterthought, read remarkably like Kabuliwallah.(only I was Mini, all of 20)

I will finally lay my hands on the Golden Gate.

The undertones is still not up.

I don't listen to too much music anymore.If that makes me sound depressed then I must clarify that I am not.I never am, mostly!

Classroom teaching deserves a fair hearing for what remains of the semester.It's been about six years now since I have paid attention in class.So it sounds like an experiment.This experiment can do only good.

I may actually struggle to finish the Hutch great Delhi run.The bloody knees feel weird after running on the streets.

Dhananjay.